


To Come Back So We Can Meet Again

by Leloi



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Parentlock, Season/Series 04, Spoilers, life goes on - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 20:25:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9459149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leloi/pseuds/Leloi
Summary: John Watson sat at the table across from his daughter, watching her pick at her sandwich.  At three years old she had begun a phase in which she gave Sherlock a run for his money and lived on a diet that consisted of air and dew from morning glories.  She had him beat in that he sometimes was weak and needed tea with milk and sugar and an occasional biscuit.  Since she had no interest in eating her lunch, Rosie Watson was intent on using her index and thumb to pinch off bits of bread and roll them into tiny dough balls that she dropped onto the table.  John found the whole process exhausting.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Not a "fix-it." More of a "future." 
> 
> Warnings for: Mentions of torture. Mentions of child abduction.

John Watson sat at the table across from his daughter, watching her pick at her sandwich. At three years old she had begun a phase in which she gave Sherlock a run for his money and lived on a diet that consisted of air and dew from morning glories. She had him beat in that he sometimes was weak and needed tea with milk and sugar and an occasional biscuit. Since she had no interest in eating her lunch, Rosie Watson was intent on using her index and thumb to pinch off bits of bread and roll them into tiny dough balls that she dropped onto the table. John found the whole process exhausting.

“Hello!” Molly called from the open front door of the flat. “Anyone in?”

“In here, Molly.” John called from the table. “I’m attempting to feed Rosie her lunch.”

Molly approached the table and looked over the scattered balls of bread. “And how is that going?”

“As well as can be expected.” John answered. “I know it’s just a phase. I keep telling myself it’s just a phase and she’ll grow out of it. She’ll eat when she’s hungry.”

Molly crouched beside Rosie’s chair. “Hello, sweetie.”

Rosie placed her most recent ball of bread into her mouth, pressing a finger there as she regarded Molly. “Hello, Aunt Molly.”

“Has your daddy been a good boy?”

Rosie swallowed. “Daddy said a bad word.”

“John!” Molly looked to John, amusement on her face.

“Not me! It was Sherlock. She calls both of us ‘daddy.’” John explained.

“She calls Sherlock ‘daddy’?” Molly shook her head.

“I’ve tried Uncle Sherlock, Uncle Lock, Sherly… She insists on ‘daddy.’”

“Confusing…” Molly mused.

“And he doesn’t seem to mind. She’s got him wrapped around her finger.” 

“Speaking of… Where is he?”

“He was supposed to be back an hour ago.” John answered, leaning back in the chair. “He mentioned having a quick errand this morning during breakfast and then he was dressed and gone.” The doctor glanced at his watch. “Our appointment is in thirty minutes. Maybe he’s already there.” 

“You can go. If he shows up I’ll send him along.” Molly offered.

“Daddy said ‘bollucks.’” Rosie announced. 

John tried very hard not to laugh and failed miserably, catching his chuckle in his hand.

Molly looked away to hide her smile before recovering to look at Rosie. “That is such a naughty word. Did you tell him it was naughty?”

“She did.” Sherlock responded as he stepped into view. His cheek was bleeding and it dripped onto his blue silk shirt. “Sorry I’m late.”

John stood up and approached his partner, looking over the wound. “What happened?”

“I’m fine.” Sherlock answered.

John checked the wound, finding it to be a shallow cut. There was already a clot forming. “You alright?”

Sherlock gave him a smile. “I’ve had worse.”

“You might want to change.”

Sherlock gave him a smile. “I’ll be back in a minute.” Quickly he headed off to his bedroom.

John watched until the bedroom door shut and then he went to the sink to rinse Sherlock’s blood from his fingers.

“What do you think happened?” Molly asked.

John shrugged. “I don’t know. Someone probably disagreed with his correct assessment. It happens.” Wiping his hand on a dish towel, he returned to the table and sat down. While he had been distracted he found that a corner of Rosie’s sandwich was missing. It seemed that Sherlock was correct. A watched Rosie rarely eats.

^.~

John sat in the cab, idly playing with his wedding band. Pulling it to his knuckle, he flexed his finger, feeling it bite into the top of his knuckle before pushing it back where it belonged. The skin underneath was permanently indented.

“You’ve been thinking about dating.” Sherlock announced.

John didn’t even look at him. Quickly he pushed his hands under his thighs so he wasn’t playing with his fingers. “Not really.”

“You’ve been playing with your ring these past two months. You pull it up to the knuckle before putting it back. You’re thinking about removing it altogether. But that means that you make yourself available.” Sherlock answered.

John balled his fists under his thighs.

“And I know you. I know the restlessness you feel when you are unattached…”

“Stop!” John commanded, annoyed at Sherlock’s observation.

“You have needs…”

“I said, ‘stop!’” John turned to glare at his partner. Sherlock seemed to shrink back into the door of the cab, causing John to soften. “I’m not ready.” Pulling his hands out from under his thighs, he clutched them together. “Besides… It’s not about me anymore. I have Rosie to think about. It would be unfair of me. It’s all about her now.”

The cab stopped and the cabbie alerted them that their reached their destination.

Sherlock passed a few notes to the driver before opening his door.

John followed Sherlock out and stood on the sidewalk beside him, looking up the building their appointment was to be held. John noticed the name “Trevor” as they entered.

^.~

“Thank you for coming to see me.” Scott Trevor stated. His hands were carefully threaded together on his desk blotter, his emotions barely in control. Years had not been kind to the older gentleman. There was deep pain in his lined face.

“I’m sorry it took so long.” Sherlock answered from where he sat in Scott Trevor’s office.

“I have not been well.” Trevor answered. “But I am grateful for what you’ve done.”

“I’m still very sorry.”

“You were very young.” Trevor admitted. “You were completely devastated by his disappearance. You were too young to deal with the trauma… The loss.” Pulling his hands from the blotter to cross over his chest, he sat back in his chair. “For a long time I had hope. I hoped that he had merely been kidnapped and raised by another family. At least he would have had a chance to grow up… Maybe have a family of his own. Are you married, Sherlock?”

John glanced at Sherlock finding the detective was looking at him. 

“No…” Sherlock’s answer was soft.

“No children then?” Trevor asked.

“I’m…” Sherlock cleared his throat and looked down at his hands. “John lost his wife. He lives with me and I’m an active participant in helping him raise his daughter.” His voice broke at the end.

“Losing a child is the worst thing a father can experience.”

Sherlock nodded. “I am deeply sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you for finding him and returning him to me.” 

^.~

“His son was your friend, Victor Trevor?” John asked as they left the building.

Sherlock frowned and bit his lips, silent.

“You didn’t tell me we were going to see his…” John began.

Sherlock sighed. “Mycroft thought I might want to give my condolences in person. I was very close to Victor’s family before I forced myself to forget about him.”

John caught Sherlock’s arm and pulled him around so they faced one another. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Sherlock answered softly.

“Do you want to go back to Baker Street and watch a marathon of crap telly with me?” John offered.

“What about Rosie?” Sherlock asked.

“Maybe Rosie can learn something by watching six hours of Kitchen Nightmares with us.”

“She’ll learn never to eat at a restaurant!”

“Hey…” John reached up and touched the cut on Sherlock’s face. “You haven’t told me how you got that.”

Sherlock shook his head and shrugged. “It was nothing. Wrong place at the wrong time, my deductions getting me in trouble as usual.”

“You pissed someone off.”

“I seem to be very good at that.” Sherlock admitted.

Their ride back to Baker Street was in silence. John found himself playing with his ring, going over details from their conversation with Victor Trevor’s father. “Why do you think he asked if you were married?”

“We were the same age. Perhaps he thought about us being in similar stages of our lives.” Sherlock answered. “He imagined Victor married with children. He hadn’t considered Victor’s other options.”

“And you’re not married, but helping to raise a child… A child that calls you ‘daddy.’”

Sherlock smiled to himself.

“What’s bothersome is that I’m daddy. We can’t both be daddy, it’s too confusing. When she’s told to go to daddy, half the time she goes to you. At the very least you can be da or papa.” John reasoned. 

“She can call me whatever she likes. I don’t mind.” Sherlock answered.

“You should. It’s not exactly an honorary title that can be given to a family friend, like aunt or uncle. She sees you as a father.” John noticed his ring had made its way to his fingertip and he pushed it back down into place.

“I made a vow.” Sherlock whispered.

“It wasn’t a vow to be there as a parent to my daughter.” John pointed out.

“It was.” 

“Sherlock, she’s going to grow up thinking you are her father.” John was annoyed that he had to spell it out. “That’s not something you can get bored with and change in a few years. She is going to feel a connection to you that will last her whole lifetime.”

“She is the closest I will ever have to a child.” Sherlock answered.

“You don’t know that!” John shot back.

Sherlock looked surprised and shook his head. “With my family history? It’s a gamble I’m not willing to make.”

“You can still move on. Hell, I’m sure the Woman…”

Sherlock moaned and rolled his eyes. “John, you see but you do not observe.”

“What am I not seeing?” John demanded.

“I will never marry the Woman… Any woman. No women!” The cab had pulled up outside of 221 Baker Street and Sherlock hastily departed, throwing some notes at the cabbie.

John got out and stood behind a clearly frustrated consulting detective. “A man, then. You can marry a man.” 

Sherlock spun around to face him. “And what man will have me?”

John took a step back.

“Do you want to know where I was this morning?” The brunette rubbed at his cheek. “It was an experiment in attraction. Clearly they weren’t attracted to me.”

John felt like he was deflating. 

“This is what I have, John. A man who regards me as his best friend and his child who calls me ‘daddy.’” And with that Sherlock entered the building.

John followed him in and up the steps to their flat, entering behind him to find Molly on the couch, reading Rosie a story.

“You two are back early.” Molly stated. “I expected you two to go out afterwards.”

“Why would you expect that?” John asked, sitting on the couch beside his daughter.

Molly nervously looked to Sherlock for support. There was none. “No reason…”

John looked at Sherlock as the detective pretended the entire conversation was completely below him by collapsing in his seat.

Rosie slipped off the couch, crossed the room and climbed into Sherlock’s lap to curl up there, her head on his shoulder and her fingers teasing his buttons.

Sherlock held out for almost a minute before he softened and wrapped an arm around her back. Lightly he kissed the top of her head as she snuggled into him.

“Daddy?”

“Yes?” Sherlock murmured into her golden curls.

“I ate my sandwich.”

“That’s my good girl.” Sherlock kissed her curls again. 

“Why are you sad?”

John stared dully at the floor, aware that Molly sat frozen next to him, the picture book still in her hands as Rosie cozied up to Sherlock.

“I’m not sad.” Sherlock responded. “I’m just a little tired.”

Rosie stirred and reached up to touch his chin, guiding him down to her level and kissed his cheek. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” Sherlock answered softly.

John felt something stir in his chest at the easy, casual way Sherlock was able to show affection to his daughter. A glance at Molly revealed that he wasn’t the only one who was affected. There was sadness in her eyes. 

Two and a half years before Sherlock had been forced to tell Molly that he loved her. It had been cruel because Molly had feelings for him since she met him. Sherlock had explained the reason for the call and Molly had been moved that he had done it in order to save her life. They didn’t talk about it after that. But it was obvious Sherlock’s free love with Rosie caused her a little pain. 

As for John’s pain… At least Rosie was a part of John.

“I want a pony.” Rosie informed the detective.

“Where will we keep it?” Sherlock asked.

“Downstairs?”

“Ponies don’t like living in buildings.”

“Why not?”

“They have difficulty with stairs.” Sherlock answered.

“A place without stairs?” Rosie queried.

“I think they are kept in stables.”

“I want a stable.”

“You’re going to have to ask Uncle Mycroft.”

“Nooo…” Rosie whined, drawing out the word. 

At least Rosie was requesting something real. The previous day her request had been for a unicorn. John was amused at watching the two interact. Sherlock was good with children. It was a shame that he never wanted to father any of his own. Luckily Sherlock had Rosie.

“I shouldn’t have brought the pony book.” Molly commented.

Sherlock looked up from his interaction with Rosie. His mood had improved so he no longer was brooding. His eyes caught on John and Molly as if he hadn’t realized they were still there.

“You were reading a story with Molly.” Sherlock reminded Rosie.

Rosie slid off of Sherlock’s lap and returned to the couch, taking her place between Molly and her father.

Molly hastily found where she had left off and returned to the story. For a time only her voice filled the flat.

John watched Sherlock as he lounged in his chair, head back, hands clasped in his lap as if he was listening to the story. John paid very little attention to the story. Instead he watched Sherlock, his fingers idly playing with his wedding ring. His thoughts drifted, imagining Sherlock attempting to flirt with some random bloke and getting punched in the face for his efforts. 

It startled him to find that the story was over and a band of gold lay in the palm of his right hand. At some point he had pulled the ring all the way off without noticing. The warm circle of gold was heavy in the palm of his hand. Quickly he returned it to his finger as Molly got up and began to gather her things.

“Well, if you two aren’t going out then I should go.”

“Where would we go?” John asked, confused by her insistence that they leave.

Molly looked to Sherlock before returning her focus to John. “I don’t know. A pub? Tea? Someplace you can interact with other adults?”

“I don’t know if you know this, Moll… But he can’t hold his liquor.” John indicated the man sitting across the room.

The man across the room smiled.

“Goodnight, John. I’ll see you later, Rosie sweetie. Sherlock.” Her final goodbye had just a hint of hardness to it. Within a minute she was gone, leaving John and Sherlock alone with Rosie.

It was late afternoon.

“What was she talking about? Did you plan for us to go out after our meeting with Scott Trevor?” John asked.

“It doesn’t matter. It would have been a failure.”

“What would have been a failure?” John queried.

“Neither of us would have been successful.” Sherlock answered.

John rubbed his forehead wearily. “Sherlock… What are you talking about being successful?”

“I’ve read about going out… To pubs. Meeting people.” Sherlock admitted. “But you aren’t ready and I’m hopeless in that regard.”

“You wanted us to meet people in pubs?” John was confused. 

“Now it sounds foolish and I’m glad we didn’t try it. It would have been a disaster.”

“Why?” John asked.

“You’ve been playing with your ring. I thought… Perhaps… You told me once that you needed it. You need intimacy and closeness. It makes us human. If we went together I could keep an eye on you and make sure you didn’t go home with anyone too dangerous.”

“What about you?” John asked.

Sherlock shrugged. “I established this morning that I am not desirable.”

“Plenty of people like you.” John stated.

Sherlock made a face. “Name one.”

“Molly.”

“Not women…” Sherlock sighed helplessly.

John bit his lips. Did Sherlock want someone? “Me?”

Sherlock’s eyes opened and he stared back at John, his expression open and soft. “You?”

John felt something flip over in his stomach at the way Sherlock stared at him. “I like you.”

A look of pain crossed Sherlock’s face and he looked away. “We’re best friends.”

John recalled what Sherlock had yelled at Mycroft the day the flat had been bombed. “We’re family.” 

Sherlock’s eyes flickered to the little girl who lay sprawled on the couch in a good imitation of himself. “Yes.”

“You love my daughter.”

“Yes.” Sherlock gave her a fond smile.

“You love me.”

Sherlock finally looked at John, causing the doctor to shiver at the intensity. “Yes.”

John looked down at his left ring finger nervously. “I’m… I’m not ready.”

“I know.” Sherlock whispered.

“I can’t say it. I’ve never been able to say it to you. You’ve said it. You told an entire room of people, but I can’t…”

“I know, John.”

“Because it’s true.” John turned away, remembering Molly’s breathed words on that terrible day. “It’s true.”

Sherlock numbly nodded.

“Boring!” Rosie announced to the room, breaking the tension. In some ways even though she was not Sherlock’s blood, she was his daughter.

With a sigh, John picked up the remote. “I think there’s a Kitchen Nightmares marathon somewhere…” His finger flipped through the channels until he heard Chef Ramsey cry out it dismay, “This is absolute rubbish!” John settled on the couch with his daughter tucked up against his side. By the time Chef Ramsey observed the dinner service Sherlock joined them on the couch. Rosie sprawled on the couch, her head on John’s thigh and her feet in Sherlock’s lap.

They watched two episodes together before Rosie rolled off the couch and onto the floor to play with her toys. By the time the third episode ended she was ready for dinner. 

They ate together at the table. As usual Rosie picked at her food until Sherlock made a game of it. Half of her plate was eaten by the time they were done. John took her into the bathroom to give her a bath. They made their way upstairs to dress her and put her to bed. Her toddler bed took up a corner of the room she shared with John. 

While John helped her get ready for bed he changed for bed too, not wanting to disturb her later. It was a warm evening so he wore his vest and pants with his bathrobe over the top. Barefoot, he padded back downstairs. It was still hours before he usually went to bed. 

Sherlock sat on the couch, feet up on the coffee table. On the telly Chef Ramsey was going through someone’s walk-in, completely disgusted by the rotten food and mold he found.

John sat on the couch. They watched the drama and the tears. The restaurant’s chef continued to deny that anything was wrong. 

And then Sherlock made a frustrated noise in his throat and changed the channel. The channel they landed on was completely random. Sometimes Sherlock became bored with telly and expressed that boredom by changing the channel. It just so happened that the channel they landed on depicted two men kissing.

John adjusted his position, staring at the screen. The two weren’t wearing shirts. One man was moaning as the other bit his neck. There was blood. It seemed they had found some sort of vampire movie. The victim had fangs too if his soundless orgasmic scream was anything to go by. The vampire gave his lover a bloody kiss and they both moaned in delight as hands went down into waistbands. John made a scramble for the remote, practically falling across Sherlock to reach it. His thumb found the power and he shut it off. In the deafening silence there was a metallic ping of something hitting the floor. John looked down at his left hand and realized he had been playing with his ring again. It had fallen in his scramble to get at the remote.

There was silence, neither moved even though John was leaning across Sherlock. And then very slowly he pulled back towards his side of the couch.

Sherlock scooted forward and looked down at the floor. In a moment he was on his hands and knees on the floor, reaching for something under his music stand before turning around to face John.

John held out his hand expectantly.

“If you’re not ready to remove it then stop playing with it.” Sherlock murmured.

“Sorry.” John answered.

Sherlock grabbed John’s left wrist before sliding the band of gold down towards his knuckle. When it was stuck on the knuckle he pulled away and resumed his spot on the couch to stare at the blank telly.

John tried not to think about how Sherlock just pushed a wedding ring onto his finger like it was no big deal. But it was Mary’s wedding ring, not Sherlock’s. Carefully he positioned it where it belonged. Would Sherlock give him a ring one day? If he were to remove Mary’s ring would Sherlock replace it with his own? Did Sherlock even want that?

“Do you want to get married?”

Sherlock looked at him in surprise.

“I don’t mean right now… But later.”

Sherlock continued to stare at him. It was much like the reaction he had when asked to be a best man.

“I know how you feel about marriage. That it’s just a piece of paper to formalize…” John lost his words for a moment. Licking his lips, he started again. “Rosie already calls you daddy. You can legally be her stepfather.” 

The detective remained silent.

John stared down at his hands. “Sherlock, please say something.”

The detective didn’t seem to be breathing.

“I will take off this ring and you can woo me properly… No messy dating of strangers. I will take this off and I’ll be yours… If you want me.”

Finally the detective blinked. At least his eyeballs wouldn’t dry out.

“Even if you don’t want me… I’m still yours. I’ll stay here until my dying day and you never have to touch me or think of me in that way. But I will stay and I will be content with just my right hand for company. Please, Sherlock… For the love of God, say something.” Did he really just casually mention masturbation to Sherlock? Not that he had a lot of opportunity to masturbate these days. Usually it was limited to the shower and even then Sherlock had no concept of privacy and often walked in to brush his teeth or use the toilet. The bathroom door in Sherlock bedroom had no lock.

“Married.” Sherlock managed.

“If I was to marry again I would look for someone who wants to help raise my child with me. I want someone who will spoil her… Love her as if she was their own.”

“Me?” Sherlock queried. 

“I swear I won’t ask for anything you’re not able to give. We can live together just like this if that’s what you want. We don’t have to share a bedroom. Just a piece of paper to…”

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, pulling him against his chest.

John relaxed, hearing Sherlock’s heartbeat against his ear. Sherlock readjusted the embrace and pressed his face to the top of John’s head. “Does this mean yes?”

Sherlock let out a small sob. It was in that moment that John realized that Sherlock was crying. The detective’s arms trembled and his hands couldn’t seem to find a comfortable position on his back. 

John waited until the embrace relaxed before pulling away to look up at Sherlock’s tear stained face. “Is the idea of sharing a bed with me that terrifying?”

Sherlock gave another sob that sounded like a laugh and shook his head, wiping the tears away with the back of his hand. “Ask me again… Properly.” 

Reaching up, John wiped the stray tears away with his fingertips. Biting his lips, he glanced at Mary’s ring. “When I’m ready… Will you marry me?”

Sherlock smiled and leaned in to kiss John’s forehead.

“Is that a yes?” John was beginning to become annoyed with Sherlock’s limited answers.

“It’s only a piece of paper. I’ve considered myself married to you for years.”

John slapped at Sherlock’s arm. “You cock…”

Sherlock smiled at him. “I made a vow.”

“You did.” John agreed. “But I want you to make another one in front of witnesses and sign a piece of paper.”

Sherlock smiled fondly at him. “Whatever you want.”

“Oh… It’s ‘ask me properly’ and the answer is ‘whatever you want’?”

The brunette leaned in and lightly brushed his lips against John’s. 

John licked the lips that grazed his. “Marry me.”

“Mm…” Sherlock hummed, rubbing their noses together.

“Marry. Me.” John tried again.

Sherlock lightly ran his tongue along John’s lower lip. 

“Say yes.”

“Yes.” Sherlock breathed against John’s lips.

John pulled back, looking up at Sherlock, perplexed. “Yes because I asked you to say it, or yes because you want to marry me?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” Sherlock replied.

“Don’t be ambiguous.” 

Sherlock smiled.

John settled back on his side of the couch, leaning into the corner where the arm met the back.

“Shall we go to bed?” Sherlock suggested.

“It’s too early for bed.” John remarked from his corner of the couch, unsure what to make of Sherlock’s inability to give a proper answer.

Sherlock shyly looked away at the coffee table. “It’s just something people say…”

John blinked at him.

“We can adjourn to my room.”

“And do what?”

Sherlock stared at him. “You are not going to make this easy for me, are you?”

John shook his head.

“Mostly I was thinking about sleep. My bed is far more comfortable than your bed or the couch.”

“You’re asking me to go to bed with you.” John commented.

Sherlock smiled. “We should try it at least once before we marry, don’t you think?”

“You admit we will marry.” John smiled back.

“Only after you’re ready.” 

“And you’re not just doing this to get into someone’s office?” 

Sherlock stood up and held out his hand. John took it and was pulled up off the couch. The detective led him into the bedroom and released his hand to go to the chest of drawers. Quickly he pulled out pajamas and dropped them on the bed before beginning the process of undressing.

John stood in the bedroom doorway, watching Sherlock nervously unbutton and unzip. Casually he closed the door in case Rosie wandered downstairs to use the toilet.

Sherlock’s clothes made a neat pile on a chair. His shirt was discarded, revealing his pale chest. With a blush he turned around and took off his trousers and pants.

John blinked, seeing scarred lines crisscrossing Sherlock back. It killed him to not know where or how Sherlock got them. John had seen Sherlock’s naked back multiple times before he jumped from the roof of St. Bart’s. His back had been smooth and perfect before.

Sherlock stepped out of his clothes and then briefly turned around to pick up his pajama bottoms, slipping them on over his naked bottom. A shirt was added and he finally turned back around.

“You have scars.”

The detective nodded. “A souvenir of my time on the run.”

“You were beaten?”

“Tortured.” Sherlock answered and approached the bed, pulling back the blankets to get in. “Turn out the light.”

John flicked the switch and climbed into the bed, settling in the space Sherlock didn’t occupy. “I didn’t know that.”

“I didn’t tell you.” 

“You haven’t told me a lot of things it seems.”

“It wasn’t important.”

“You could have told me.”

“It slipped my mind.”

John recalled Sherlock’s return and how he had thrown the man to the floor… The look of pain on Sherlock’s face when he landed on his back. “Oh God… I just remembered…”

“You didn’t know. I startled you.”

“That’s no excuse! You had been tortured and I threw you to the ground. I’m sorry.” 

“I hurt you far more than you hurt me. It was only transport. I would heal.”

John reached out, finding Sherlock’s head on the other pillow. Carefully he pulled the other man closer, wrapping an arm around his head. “I’m sorry.”

Sherlock gave a soft sigh and wrapped his arm around John’s waist. Long fingers drew lazy patterns along John’s spine from his waist to his scapula and back down again.

“Can I turn on the light and get a better look at them?”

The fingers stopped. “You can look at them later.”

“It’s still very early and I’m not ready to go to sleep yet.”

“Fine.” Sherlock let go.

John got up from the bed and turned on the light. “Take off your shirt.”

Sherlock sat up and pulled off the shirt. For a moment he stayed where he was as if he was unsure what to do before laying down on his belly.

John crawled onto the bed and straddled Sherlock’s butt, crouching to look down at the scars in the pale light of the lamp. His fingers lightly traced lines. “There’s a lot of them.”

“Mm…” Sherlock answered.

John’s fingers traced the spine all the way down to the small of the detective’s back. His body scooted back to straddle the brunette’s thighs as he followed one scar into the waistband of Sherlock’s sweats. It wasn’t entirely erotic to touch Sherlock in this way… And yet he was still excited from the near kisses on the couch. Leaning forward, he kissed Sherlock’s spine.

“Mm… John…” Sherlock moaned, pushing his bottom up.

John bit his lips, aware of his position above Sherlock. On hands and knees with his face near Sherlock’s upper back. Sherlock’s bottom attempting to make contact with John’s crotch. Inside his pants he was hard. Could Sherlock feel it? Did he care? Was he aware of how sexual their position was?

“Are they hideous?” Sherlock murmured against the pillow.

John sat up and ran his palms down Sherlock’s back, feeling the scars against his hands from shoulders down to waist. For a moment he regretted not being able to experience the smooth skin it had once been. “They aren’t hideous… And they should fade with time.” His hands massaged the tight muscles, kneading them. “You’re tense.”

Sherlock gave a soft chuckle. “Lower.”

John’s hands worked their way down Sherlock’s back, shifting further down with each command of “lower” until he got to the man’s waist.

“Lower.”

John sat back, still straddling Sherlock’s thighs. Lightly he patted the detective’s bottom with a soft giggle. 

Sherlock’s fingers reached down to hook the waistband of his sweats, pushing them down a couple of inches before returning this hands to his sides.

John scooted back further, now on the detective’s calves as he took the hint and pulled the sweats down far enough to reveal a perfectly formed bottom. His hands cupped the mounds, giving them a little squeeze before he crawled back up to sit at the top of Sherlock’s thighs. His erection pressed along the crack as he leaned forward to kiss Sherlock’s spine.

Sherlock moaned, a full, hungry moan and arched his back to meet John’s touch. 

“What do you want, Sherlock?” John asked, very much aware that the man below him was gently humping the bed.

“Touch me.” Sherlock whimpered.

“Where?”

“Everywhere.” 

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

“John… Please…” His voice broke. “Please don’t make me beg.”

John didn’t have the heart to tell him that he was already begging. Scooting back again, he dismounted and helped the detective remove his sweats completely, leaving him face down, naked and vulnerable. “How do you want this?”

Sherlock responded by pulling his knees under himself, lifting his arse into the air in offering.

John lightly kissed his left buttock as he took in Sherlock’s vulnerable position. Between his legs hung his scrotum and his fully erect cock. “Sherlock?”

The man with his head on the mattress stirred. 

“I like this position. But I don’t think I’m quite ready for that… Yet.”

Sherlock seemed to deflate, his rump sinking to his heels.

“Don’t be like that…” John wrapped his arm around Sherlock’s shoulders and guided him into lounging against him. 

“I want to satisfy you.” Sherlock answered, his head on John’s shoulder.

“I know.”

“You have needs… Desires, and I want to show you I can do this for you. You crave a connection and I desperately want to give it to you.”

“I know.” John smiled at him.

“I don’t know what else to do, John. My body is…” Vaguely he indicated his erection.

John kissed him to silence him, pushing his tongue into Sherlock’s mouth. Breathlessly they broke the kiss.

“I want to show you…” Sherlock pleaded softly.

John kissed him again, deepening it to silence Sherlock’s murmurs. His hand reached down to touch Sherlock’s cock, cradling it in his hand. 

Sherlock broke the kiss and cried out, pressing his forehead to John’s shoulder. “John…”

“It’s alright… Rub against me.”

With a grunt and a desperate movement of limbs Sherlock managed to roll on top of John, grinding against him. “Like this?”

“That’s perfect.” John answered, wrapping his leg around Sherlock’s legs.

For a time they moved together, chasing their pleasure. At some point John squirmed away and removed his vest and pants for more skin contact. The removal of his clothing caused Sherlock to increase his grinding, bringing them both the much needed friction. Sherlock was the first to go still, sending warm pulses of wet onto John’s stomach. John quickly followed, his own semen mingling with mess on his stomach. 

For a time they both panted for breath, Sherlock breathing warmly in John’s ear. John stared up at the ceiling. It had been years since his last sexual experience with anyone. His last had been Mary not long before she died. 

There had been a date. Rosie was with Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson. John took Mary out to a restaurant for dinner. They had made love when they returned home, a little giddy with wine, knowing they had the house to themselves while their daughter was safe with people who adored her. When Mary fell asleep John wondered if what he was doing with E was considered cheating or not. 

Sherlock kissed John’s lips, breaking into the doctor’s thoughts. “I love you.” It was a simple, soft declaration. 

John focused on the man on top of him, banishing his memories of the last time he had made love. “I know.” And then he giggled, realizing he just quoted Han Solo. And then he giggled some more, realizing Sherlock would not get the Star Wars reference. Wrapping his arms around the detective, he pulled the curly head back down to his shoulder and rubbed a scarred back. “Love you too.”

Sherlock gave a little squirm but settled. “Am I heavy?”

“No… You’re perfect.” John answered, rubbing Sherlock’s back absently.

“Did I do it wrong?”

“We both finished. I count that as a win.”

“It could have been better.”

“That takes practice.” 

Sherlock finally got up and went into the bathroom. A few moments later he returned with a wet flannel and cleaned John’s belly. Satisfied that all the semen had been wiped away, he tossed the flannel onto the floor and climbed back into bed. “Sherlock Watson. John Holmes.”

“What are you saying?” John asked as he wrapped an arm around the man who cuddled up against him.

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes Watson. John Hamish Watson Holmes.”

John chuckled. “Are we hyphenating our names?”

“William Sherlock Scott Watson Holmes.”

John kissed his forehead and held him tight. There would be time to figure out last names later.

^.~

Rosie hummed as she ate cold cereal, banging her heels on the legs of the chair.

Across from her sat her father with a triangle of toast and a mug of tea. “Rosie?”

Rosie paused in her humming and gave him a look.

“Would you like to have another dad?”

Rosie raised an eyebrow. “Three daddies?”

“No, sweetheart. Two daddies. Me and Sherlock. Would you like Sherlock to be your daddy?”

Rosie made a face. “He’s already my daddy.”

“No, sweetheart… Sherlock isn’t actually your daddy. At least not yet.”

Rosie shook her head, confused. “He’s already my daddy.” 

Sherlock gave a soft chuckle from where he stood at the counter. 

“You could help me!” John shot at him.

Sherlock set down his tea and sat at the table. “Rosie… When your mum died I promised to take care of you and your father. Your father would like to find someone to share his life with and help take care of you. He chose me. Is that alright with you?” 

“So you’ll be my real daddy?” Rosie stared up at him in awe.

“Yes. We will be a family. You, me, and your father.”

“Ok.” Rosie responded, taking a bite of cereal.

Sherlock stood up and kissed the little girl on the top of her golden curls. “Thank you, Rosie Watson.”

John sat back, shaking his head at his family. Picking up his tea, he glanced at his naked ring finger. It was time to move on.

\--Fin

**Author's Note:**

> I've been watching Kitchen Nightmares... Like... A LOT of Kitchen Nightmares. The first episode I saw was the notorious American episode with the initials ABC. After that I watched many, many episodes on Youtube. Many. @.@
> 
> I'd like to think that part of Sherlock learning to be a "good man" involves him paying for cabs instead of leaving it for John to do so in my fic he pays the cab fare.
> 
> Title a lyric from Five for Fighting's "Dying." My favorite line of the song.


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